Miserable At Best
by Hattersglasschild
Summary: WARNING! CONTAINST SPOILERS FROM CATCHING FIRE! "Gale knows I chose him over Peeta when I didn't make a run for it." -Katniss Catching Fire pg 185 Not only does Gale know but so does Peeta. He knows he needs to let his beloved Girl on Fire go but can he live without her? Inspired by the Song Miserable at Best by Mayday Parade


Peeta tossed and turned in his bed, his blond locks plastered to his face from the sweat dripping down his f orehead. He had tried everything from curling himself into a ball, spreading out on the floor, and pulling his pillow tightly around his head. Nothing helped. Everytime he closed his eyes he saw either Katniss lying in a pool of her own blood or liplocked with Gale as they shared a little more than a heated kiss.

Frusterated, he pushed to his feet, dragging himself to the room next to his. He grabbed a paintbrush, a pallet of various colors, and pulled a dusty sheet from the glistening white canvous. It remained blank for quite some time as Peeta let his mind wonder, thinking of make believe castles, far off landscapes, even the terrors of the Hunger Games but no matter what he thought of, the same image kept finding its way back in: Gale Hawthorns picture perfect lips on his girl.

He sighed, his somach twisting into knots. Katniss was not his girl. no matter how much or how hard he tried, how much he wanted it she would never be his. She had made her choice and now he had to live with it.

'Clear your mind,' he thougt but the image stayed locked. That's when Peeta lost it. Colors began splashing onto the white' dashes of brown (both light and dark), emerald, light pink, gold mildtones mixed with peach to create sun kissed skin from the many days spend in the woods. He clutched the brush, stepping back and wanting to throw up as his eyes traced the painting. The image etched in his brain was now a permanent part of the canvas.  
With a low growl, he dipped the brush and flicked his wrist, splattering paint that much resembled blood over the picture before breaking into tears.  
"Let her go Peeta," he whispered, sinking down against the wall consumed by memories.  
He remembered the cace. It was the first real kiss they had shared and he ached to kiss her again. No one of those petty, fake kisses either. He wanted the real thing. Katniss may have been acting but he wasn't. She was trying to do what he couldn't:  
forget.  
"Let her go," he whispered agian.  
There was no denying she was trying to forget him all together and at that exact moment he decided to let her. It was painful the many times he had held her, their bodies fitting perfectly like a puzzle piece but he would do anything to comfort her so he endured the pain. With another deep sigh he walked back to his room and sat on the edge of the bed. clutching the reciever tightly, he diled the house next door and after a few rings there was an answer.  
"Hello?" a very tierd Katniss asked.  
"Hey Katniss."  
"Peeta?" Her voice was sharp and sounded like nails on a chalkboard to the baker's son. "Its four in the morning," she snapped, "What do you want?"  
He cringed. "I couldn't sleep."  
There was nothing but silence on the other end. "Look, I know you don't want to talk to me but I needed to hear your voice agian. I got the point that I should leave you alone but we both know I'm not that strong. I miss the lips that made me fly."  
Katniss took a shakey breath.

"P-Peeta don't go there.." Her voice had smoothed itself out but had an edge to it Peeta recognized. She was trying not to cry.  
"Katniss don't cry. I know you're trying you're hardest and the hardest part is letting go of the nights me shared." The soft whimper from Katniss made his heart break a little more.

"Look I don't even know why I called you. Maybe it was to say I love you one more time or for my own selfish needs."  
He walked back to where the painting still sat on the easl and more tears burned his vision.

"Whatever the reason, I'm sorry. Goodnight."  
"Peeta wait!"  
"No Katniss." His voice cracked and he faked a cough to cover it up. "Lets not pretend like you're alone tonight. I know he's there. These words were never eaiser for me to say or you to second guess but I guess I can live without you. Without you I'll be miserable at best."  
If the girl on fire relied, Peeta's choaked sobs were too loud for him to hear and he hung up. With shakey hands he dipped his finger in a glob of black paint and carefully drug it over the canvas. Whe his hand finally fell was the phrase 'Miserable At Best' was smudged in the corner and looking at the three simple words he knew he would never let go.


End file.
